Ice Age State of Mind

People, people, peeeeoople, let's get one thing straight: I recognize that sarcasm can be a low form of comedy, especially when precisely directed at a less worthy adversary. I don't ever pick on intellectually deficient folk, BUT I do aim to challenge everybody to maintain a certain societal standard of reason, aptitude and basic common sense while in my presence. Anyone who doesn't similarly do this is simply un-American and contributing to the day that our public schools recruit Chinese citizens to come over here and teach our children the English language.

As this here story goes, our ice dispenser broke recently so we did the most logical and time efficient thing we could to keep our customer's drinks cold. We put a big bucket of ice in a convenient spot next to the soda machine on an elevated position with a scooper. Problem solved, right? Bah! Not in this day and age. What happened next turned into the greatest social cafe experiment the world has ever seen. Once we have concluded our findings and compiled them into a comprehensive report, I'm convinced that our contribution to humanity will be one that makes Dr. Zimbardo's obsolete.

1st: The big out of place bucket of ice was placed in the middle of the drink window to split the difference of those who get sodas on the left and a choice of 1 of 3 iced tea options on the right. This failed miserably to grab the attention of more than of those who stood irritated with nothing being dispensed from the broken ice machine.

2nd: We moved the bucket underneath the soda machine since everybody always went there regardless for ice independent of what drink they were getting. This attempt failed even worse as 3/4 of people never bothered to look down at all.

Last: We moved the elevated bucket out a foot so people would quite literally have to reach over it or go around to get to the soda machine where they previously got their ice. While this final attempt did drop the rate at which people "informed" us we were out of ice to well under 50%, it was still shocking how many continued to miss the mark altogether.

The play by play...

"Uhhh, like, you're like totes out of ice!"

"Calm down cool guy, there is TO-TAL-LY a bucket right in front of you."

"OHHHH." -- "Yeah, better luck next time, doofus."

Sure an out of order sign up could've been a quick fix, but that would've just hurt these patrons in the long run. To these bizarre beans who have had their ice handed to them on a silver platter their whole lives: you know who you are...

Cool Beans on a Warm Evening

Tis another suffocating summer swelter in the Lone Star State; the kind of mugginess that makes your buttcrack sweat even in the evening. This heat isn't good for hot chocolate, safe upward extensions of the arm, corduroy pants, nor hipsters that think cutoff jeans are stylish (or ever were for that matter), but it is good for one thing in particular: ice cream! Yes, this is the perfect evening for some ice cream with a righteous place down the road to go. That being said, Amy, her dog, Snoopy, and yours truly all started our walk for Amy's Ice Cream of course.

Well, when we got there the line was whack, Amy had to stay outside in the sauna with Snoop dog, she couldn't decide which flavor she fancied and said she'd just have a bite of mine, I told her another place would have to freeze over before that happened, and tensions were pretty much flaring up all around when one of the scooper dudes tried to do a trick with the ice cream and dropped it on the ground. Pit stained arms went up in accordance with grumbling in the crowd about a mutiny, and being closest to the door I decided to get out while I still could.

As fate would have it, we walked another couple of blocks further to get a pint at the corner store and came upon a bum before we could cross the street. Anticipating his begs I was instead caught off guard when he asked if I had any food. We were empty handed. Rather than consider him wildly un-observant I took this as a genuine request. I know what you're thinking. We got the chocolate chip cookie dough flavor. While walking back home I gave the bum the sandwich and chips that would've never been necessary had it not been for all of the people in front of me pissed off about ice cream at the other place. The bum's response was priceless, "Whoa! Cool BEANS!!" Ha! He also apologized for his appearance and for asking me for money before, but said he hadn't eaten in days. I reminded him that he didn't ask me for money, but for food. He replied, " You have a good heart. I don't know what your brain is like, but you have a good heart." To this bizarre bean: I should've gotten you a beer too...

A Tidbit About Tiles

While writing one evening I stopped for a restroom break. Amidst my business I looked ahead at the writing on the walls following left to right and casually scanned upwards. In a precarious position, and with no rhyme or reason, a random tile closer to the ceiling, which had obviously originally been blue, was at some point painted over yellow with a streaking brush. In a black marker two different writing styles shared a significant short conversation on the lone tile. It read:

Pen 1- "A blue tile pretending to be yellow."

Pen 2- "Aren't we all..."

Wow. Try getting hit with that truth while attempting to get through a quick piss. To these bizarre beans who somehow saw life's lessons in a single tile: you know who you are.

Nothing Comes Between a Man and His Yarn?

I drove in from Houston yesterday just in time to hang out with some old college friends I hadn't seen a while. We did nothing more than stay in the place where they were crashing trying to change the world in a single night, and came up way short. By the time I realized how late it was I was too tired to drive home. True to college form everyone found the coziest couch, and in my case corner on the floor. Rising to realize these aren't as favorable of conditions as they used to be it was decided that I needed to get on with my day and make good use of my time. Grimy and gross, the conditions were instead ripe for sitting outside writing and sweating out the previous evening. Two cups of coffee in, a beer on the way, and two written pages down this younger guy came strolling in with a couple of tote bags.

Had he not kept looking over each shoulder spotting his investigative peers I probably would have never looked over my computer or hunched position over the leather bound journal. It's all good man. Rambeau's not looking. Whatcha got in there? Boom! Out comes some yarn and chop stick looking things. Duuuude, are you croqueting!? Hold up, that's a lawn game I think. Crocheting? Knitting? I don't know the difference if there is one, but right on. Do your thing bud. I'm not judging. I'm just interested to understand your interest in the delicate intricacies of your yarn. Carry on. To this bizarre bean who isn't afraid to get pointed at and picked on by his peers in class anymore: you know you are...

The Point is...

Exactly one week ago I was sitting in exactly the same place as I am today, outside at a coffee shop writing and enjoying the day; 12o hand written pages into yet another novel. My concentration was broken by several emails, texts, and phone calls which were all heartfelt explanations of what my mom's teachings in my recently released book, God from the Grave: a story of life, even in death, had done for them.

My mother took on the biggest battle of her life, and lived to serve others; acknowledging that it was going to take a miracle for her to survive, but that her prayers for a miracle would be answered because she said God could not use her from the grave. The book was written to overcome that last notion in a positive way, and to own up to the natural circumstances all of humanity is subject to, when we seemingly lost her. In every way people were taking the time to reach out last week, each were emotional and even tearful explanations of forgiveness, re-kindled relationships and friendships, and the power her faith now had on their every day lives.

With more clarity than ever before, I realized that her prayers were answered, and her body did not wilt away in the grave because now she quite literally embodies the miracle she asked for. Needless to say, I had a hard time keeping it together in a public place, and nothing more got done, but my life is made that much better knowing her miracle lives on through others.

This Stall Ain't Big Enough for the Two of Us

I am happy to announce that apart from the book that I just released, I starting writing again in another project. I'd like to consider myself a minimalist, but having recently moved into more humble digs I noticed I still had too much stuff. The day started off well. I sold a couple of shirts to a retail exchange, and gave the rest away, making $8.40; enough to pay for lunch. Fantastic. I read a good chunk of an awesome book while waiting, and found a nice snug spot outside to eat. Moving right along, I had a meeting with a dear friend, and author of the book mY Generation, at a coffee shop at 4. This presented the perfect opportunity to pound out a few pages of my own beforehand.

Again sitting outside, with coffee on my left, a beer to my right, and my creative juices flowing, other juices needed to flow as well. Everything was going fine. There were nice breezes and uncluttered paths paving the way for a calm, but brisk walk to my destination, with plenty of time to hold the front door open for a lady. I proceeded with confidence through an unlocked door to the small men's room only to find it already occupied.

Whoa. Dude. C'mon, lock the door. That's not kosher. I realize there is a urinal and a toilet, BUT THERE IS NO DIVIDER. Therefore, man law, section 3 line 7 clearly states: "two dudes must never engage in relieving oneself without a divider unless there are multiple urinals side to side while said dudes face directly forward, and respecting one urinal spacing between each other whenever possible. If amenities face each other without any divider, dude must lock door." Trust me, this is a credible quote, and confirmed on the tv show, Myth Busters. While waiting outside wondering what kind of rookie this guy must be, he soon came out and cruised back behind the counter. To this bizarre bean who should know better in his own place of business: you know who you are...

Just a Little Out of Place

I was running a little late to work one morning. At approximately 6:04 AM I pulled into the empty parking lot before the sun had awoken. This was rather strange considering the promptness and reliability of my boss and the head cook. Approximately 48 seconds after peering through our dark windows another car pulled up. It was a co-worker sharing the same bewildered look I was giving her. "What are you doing here," she asked. "Do you work today?" - "Ha. That's funny. I was just going to ask you the SAME thing, SHAWNA." My call was going to my boss's voicemail when Shawna realized she had a key. We walked into the cafe, lit only by the eerie red glow of our exit sign.

Walking in, neither of us had any clue what was going on, who was supposed to be there, where the others were, if day light savings time had come and gone early somehow with us being the only people to not receive the memo, or even where the light switches were. Waiting for the Twilight Hour theme song to start playing we began shouting at the top of our lungs.

"WHAT IS HAPPENING!?"

"WHERE IS EVERYBODY!?"

"WHHHYYYY!?"

At approximately 6:17 AM the main phone line rang. It was the name of a girl who went to my high school, but one grade below mine, on the caller ID. "This isn't helpING!!" I thought to myself. Even stranger, when I answered saying, "What do you want?" it was the voice of her older sister, who I graduated with, and a Paris Hilton wannabe. She sounded just as frantic as Shawna and I did.

"Is this Austin Java???"

"Yeah."

"Do y'all serve mimosas??"

"Who is this?" [she didn't respond well]

"Excuse me? Why do you want to know who this is??"

"Recognized your name on the caller ID. I think we went to h.s. together, unfortunately."

"Well who are YOU?"

"Rambeau."

"Yeah, I don't know... [Psshhh my friends and I threw the majority of every decent party in h.s., which she frequented, and I had the misfortune of seeing her downtown several months before looking like a train wreck while receiving an incredibly fake hug from her]

... but this is Becky Drunktastic*."

"Whatever."

She laughed that I didn't acknowledge the esteem she said her name with. "Ha, whatever? Anyways, do you serve mimosas!?"

"Yes."

"What time? I will drive up 30 minutes from San Marcos RIGHT NOW if you will serve me a mimosa."

"When we open at 7 AM."

"Really?!? I'll be there at 7 on the DOT!"

"Well, our computers are 5min off so I actually won't open the doors for you until 7:05 AM."

"FINE, 7:05. Get ready to rage."

"Whoa. Don't think that I won't hesitate to cut your ass off if you come in acting amuck in my establishment."

"Are you serious?"

"Damn straight I am." [CLICK]

Shawna thought it was a prank call, and couldn't believe I'd talk to a customer that way. It wasn't, and you get what you deserve. Sure enough, she showed up, accompanied by friend; both sporting a heroine chic, at approximately 7:03 AM. I guess the stern tone was effective. They were served mimosas and breakfast tacos, were very polite, tipped well, and left quietly. To these bizarre beans apparently finally finding the right fix: you know who you are...